


fading bruises

by holdenscoffee (spacebarista)



Series: in a lovely constellation [3]
Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Facial Shaving, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Eros, References to Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 14:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12212871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebarista/pseuds/holdenscoffee
Summary: Holden struggles with a lot after the devastation on Eros. His health and his complicated relationship with Amos and Naomi, mostly. But he's got more support than he realizes.





	fading bruises

**Author's Note:**

> So... hey. I've been working on this beast for... over a year now. Since before S2 even aired. Originally I was going to write this fluffy piece between Holden and Amos where Amos helps him with a mundane task, but when the OT3 ideas entered the mix, it evolved into the beast it is today. Obviously, the ship descriptions in the earlier half of the fic, as well as some noted events, may not line up exactly, since I didn't know where S2 was going. But I think the majority of it still holds up. 
> 
> Please review if you can, and thanks for peeking in! Enjoy!

Being free of the medbay is the best gift Holden has been given in years. Sure, his legs are shaky as he makes his way down the ladder, mag boots engaged (just to prove he’s on the mend). Naomi wants him to keep resting before they hit Tycho. He appreciates the thought. The thought of the thought makes him feel warm and almost tingly. Reassures him that things are getting better. But he needs to move. He needs to be alone for just five minutes.

 

He needs to feel like his world hasn’t changed on levels he’d never expected. Again.

 

Part of him—most of him—wants to swing into the galley. Make a cup of coffee. Naomi wouldn’t let him, and wouldn’t bring him any. A cruel, vicious woman. The rational part of him, which somehow survived Eros intact, tells him to shower, clean up, wash the grime of sweat, blood, death, and _worse_ off his skin. To make himself feel human again.

 

_Shit._

 

He pauses. Squeezes his eyes shut. Steadies his legs and his stomach and the tremors threatening to run through him as they have since he’d started healing. He wants to banish any thought of Eros from his mind for the rest of his—likely shortened by radiation exposure—life. They’d never be human again. Whatever they are. Holden takes a few shaky breaths before pushing himself on. He’s almost at the head anyway.

 

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the glaring lights once they sense his presence in the room. A deep ache grows in his skull. He just holds still by the door until the pain mostly passes and the light is less harsh. The head is meant to accommodate quite a few more crew members then the _Roci’s_ four plus one. Six shower stalls and a bench take up the length of one wall. Two toilet stalls and three urinals take another. Four sinks and a long mirror take up the final wall not broken by the door. It's the nicest facility he's been in in his short careers as a UN naval lieutenant and third-officer on an ice hauler. Thank God for Mars and their fancy high-tech tendencies.

 

He crosses the room, stripping off the disposable jumpsuit he'd donned for his escape and weakly tossing it onto the bench. He couldn't wait to have real clothes back. Naomi thought it better for him to sweat in something that wasn't his, and he had the good sense to agree with her. He could burn this later. He could wear some Martian’s clothes until they hit Tycho. Or something. He wonders if his shirt and jumpsuit had been salvageable. He steps into the center stall and turns the water on as hot as he can stand.

 

Holden groans as the scalding water seeps heat into his muscles. It's the best thing he's felt in days. Helps him forget Eros for a second. Helps him forget Eros and the _Anubis_ and… And the ache of the separation between him and two particular members of the crew. Naomi. Amos. He rests his head against the bulkhead and lets water stream over his shoulders and down his back.

 

His clash with Amos had ruined everything. It went back further than that, and he knows it. But he can't help but bear the brunt of the blame. He'd logged the call. Naomi kept his secret. He’d revealed his role in the _Cant_ ’s destruction and Naomi revealed she’d not told Alex and Amos to protect him. Holden nearly killed Amos for threatening to kill the Martians. Amos pulled away from both of them. “You were scared of me”, he'd said to Naomi. Holden certainly was. The thought stung.

 

Holden had been fairly certain whatever thing they had going was over. That stung worse.

 

Naomi told him she couldn't in good conscience keep on with him. Not if she wasn't also with Amos. She couldn't take sides like that. She couldn't let Amos think she'd taken their newest addition’s side over his. Holden understood, of course. Once the initial stabbing pain in his heart passed. But in the days since, he'd felt a heavy weight on his chest when he looked at her or thought about her. A similar yet still unique weight settled on him with Amos. Sometimes he saw her trying to reconnect with him. Sometimes it looked like it was working. That made the weight heavier. If they reconciled, would there still be a place for him? She'd laughed with him, teased him and joked with him. Still, it felt like less effort was being put into maintaining _their_ connection. Something was missing from their conversations. When he could get her to have one with him.

 

He didn't blame her, really. It had been her and Amos before her, Amos, and him. That didn’t reassure him or stop his breath from coming out short at the thought. That and… seeing them kiss again when they thought he wasn’t there didn’t help. The weight creeps in and he rubs hard at his weary eyes to distract himself.

 

The soap and shampoo are standard-issue MCRN. The crisp, fresh scent is nearly the same as what the UN Navy used. It takes him back years. Back when he was a fresh faced kid from Montana, guilty for leaving his family and the farm but so happy to be free of the weight they both came with. He loses himself in the memory. A younger, happier James Holden showers in an older ship with different crew. He doesn't know what it will be like to throw his career away. What it will be like to bear the weight of the destruction of two ships. What it will be like to feel himself falling into something good and destroying it all in such a short period of time. Holden envies the kid.

 

Though he must admit, as he massages shampoo into his greasy hair, that maybe hope isn't lost. He'd told Naomi to leave him behind. To give him three hours to follow Miller to the truth on Eros and to leave if he didn't show. She hadn’t. According to Alex, she’d _insisted_ on waiting for him. She hadn’t wanted to leave him behind. “All those bullets flying” and she’d waited. It’s a better feeling than he’d had when he’d thought she’d listened to him and saved Amos and Alex. But that could have been anything. A promise kept, a kindness returned. A debt repaid. It was what she did after that really comforts him now.

 

Naomi had taken care of him. Not just in the sense that she'd guided him to the medbay, hooked him up to the top of the line machines, took his vitals and adjusted in kind. No, she'd _taken care of him._ Sat by his side as he'd drifted in and out of sleep, attended to every need without a word between them, talked to him about whatever came to his drug-addled mind. He thinks he dreamed her fingers twining with his on more than one occasion. Warm lips against his forehead as a hand smoothed over his hair. There's still something there. There's still a chance. Maybe she still wants him.

 

But Amos…

 

Amos hadn’t been in to see him at all. Holden had barely seen the man since he returned to the _Roci_. He'd gone right to work on Miller as Holden waited for Naomi to return. They spoke in low voices he couldn't pick up, and as far as he knew, Amos hadn't even spared him another glance. He only breezed through the medbay to check in with Naomi. Holden punches the button on the soap dispenser several times until the stuff fills the palm of his hand. He scrubs vigorously at his skin. He shouldn't take it so personally. Amos had been open about his emotional capacity. Or virtual lack thereof. Still. The opposite reactions from both of his former lovers throws him through a loop he can't get out of.

 

The emotional highs and lows are too much for him to handle when he's so _tired_.

 

Holden rubs absently at his chest, but the ache doesn’t fade. Not all the way. He stands under the water a few moments longer. Enjoys it in place of the warmth he’s missed and craved. He shuts it off before it can shut off on him. The chill on his wet skin wakes him up enough for now. Maybe he can forego the coffee. He turns, ready to step out and grab a towel.

 

Amos stands just outside the stall, expression torn between amused, aroused, and no emotion at all. Holden yelps, slips back against the bulkhead. The amusement vanishes from the other man’s face.

 

“Relax, Holden,” Amos mutters, stepping closer and reaching out. “It’s just me.”

 

Holden sputters, trying to catch his breath and calm his heart. “Jesus, Amos. Make a sound next time.” He breathes for a moment. Ignores his moderate embarrassment at being naked in front of Amos. Even if they hadn’t been lovers, they’d shared shower space before. This time, Holden is at a complete disadvantage. He squints at Amos, studying him. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Naomi was worried about you being on your own, told me you needed fresh clothes.” Amos shrugs. A grin appears on his lips, and Holden has to suppress less innocent thoughts than being glad Amos isn't just scowling or staring at him. “Besides, thought I should check on you. Shouldn't fight like hell to get back here just to die slipping in the shower.”

 

_Can’t argue with that logic_ , Holden muses as he blinks at Amos. Still, it would have been nice to share a moment that didn’t involve him being naked, cowering in the shower. He knows any hope of a truly emotional, meaningful moment may be fruitless, but actual words between them would have been… preferable to _this_. Amos drops the clothes on a nearby bench and reaches for a towel to toss him. Holden manages to catch the soft terry in one hand, scrambling to cover himself and regain some of his composure.

 

Holden expects more quips from Amos. He expects flirtation and innuendo. He's _naked_ for Christ’s sake. But when he turns back to face Amos, towel wrapped securely around his waist, Amos says nothing. He watches Holden with that steady, emotionless gaze. Like he's studying Holden's recovering body. It makes Holden shy. He'd been less than confident the first time he'd been naked with Amos, caught between him and Naomi. Still, he's even less confident now. What does Amos see? 

 

“So,” Holden starts, passing Amos to shuffle to the mirror. “Naomi sent you?”

 

“Not exactly. I was already coming down when she said something about you.”

 

“Okay.” Holden grimaces at his reflection. The man staring back at him is too pale. His dark hair, eyebrows, and beard stand out against his too-white skin. Purple shadows beneath his eyes betray a bone-deep exhaustion. His mouth is set in a firm line. And his eyes…

 

They’re cloudy with emotions he doesn't want to admit to.

 

He pulls the electric razor out of it’s holster on the wall. “I only ask since I haven’t really seen you since we hauled ass off Eros.”

 

“Had things to do. We’ve been a man down since then. Two, if you count Naomi. With all the time she spent looking after you and… Miller.”

 

Holden glances at Amos through the mirror. Amos meets his gaze, but they both know he couldn’t quite hide that slip. Something’s wrong there. But Amos’ stance, his chin tilted up in a challenge, keeps Holden from asking. He looks away again, fiddling with the razor. When will any of these people _trust_ him? Getting any details at all out of them reminds him of shepherding with his fathers. Just when you think you’re getting somewhere, you turn around and see you still have most of the sheep in the fields. He feels that more and more with Amos and Naomi every day.

 

Focusing hard on his own face, Holden studies the ragged beard along his jaw. Amos’ presence presses against his shoulder blades, threatens to push him over the sink. His face heats at the thought. With luck, the harsh light will keep Amos from noticing his change in color. He tilts his head down, rinses his hand off under the automated sink. That’s when the shaking starts again.

 

Holden’s caught himself shaking a few times, riding out tremors that range from a minor annoyance to a complete impairment of his fine motor functions. Naomi had explained it may happen, and had been kind and patient enough to help him through the worst of them. Even if they’d both been shy about her helping him eat. The spells have become less frequent as he's healed. But of course one starts when he finally gets a chance to shave.

 

Clenching his fists against the solid steel counter, Holden lowers his head and closes his eyes. Breathes. He prays for the shaking to subside. The edges of the razor dig into his palm. He hears it creak, a distressing sound he can feel in his own bones. _Stop. Please stop. Not now. Not in front of Amos._ Holden’s spent all this time, since the Knight—no, no, since the second he’d joined the Cant—feigning strength. Like an actor playing a better version of himself. For the small crew. For himself.  


There’s nothing to hide behind now. How can he act strong if he can’t even be strong? In front of the one person he has to?  


“Hey, Holden.”  


He starts, twisting to see Amos right over his shoulder. His face is blank, betraying none of his thoughts. It doesn’t quite match Amos’ almost… gentle tone. He gazes into Amos’ steely blue eyes, heat rising in his cheeks again. The intensity of this simple action, of staring back at a man whose touch he’s craved, whose attention he’s sought for weeks, hits him like a punch in the gut. So fixated on having what he’s wanted is Holden, that he doesn’t notice Amos holding his hand out.  


“What?” Holden could wince at how dreamy the word comes out.  


Amos doesn’t even blink. “Give me the razor.”  


“Why?”  


“Just do it.” If he had been anyone else, Amos might have sighed. But he doesn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve like Holden does. He doesn’t let any of his thoughts show.  


Holden does what he asks, struggling to loosen his shaking fingers from around the device. Amos doesn’t show any sign of annoyance or frustration. Holden considers it a blessing. Scratching his jaw with his free hand, Amos gestures to the bench with the razor. Though still skeptical of Amos’ plans, Holden crosses back to the bulkhead. It takes all his concentration to do so without losing his balance. He drops down onto the bench, ignoring the groan it emits to watch Amos at the sinks.  


He follows Holden moments later, razor and damp towel in hand. Holden drops his head back against the wall as he gets closer. It’s always interesting to be looking up at Amos. Whether from his knees or from a seat. It changes the dynamic in the basest of ways. Holden is taller, the de facto leader, a man of staunch beliefs. Amos is shorter but broader, follows Naomi more than him, and keeps everything to himself. Being physically beneath Amos feels like submission. And exposing his throat to a man who’s said he could kill him without a second glance takes it to the next level.  


It’s an arousing thought. He’ll save it for later.

 

Amos drops the towel on Holden’s shoulder. It’s damp and warm and Holden lets himself relax back into the bulkhead. Thick, rough fingers slide under his chin and tip his head up. Holden watches Amos take in the line of his jaw. Like he’s never seen it before. Like his lips and teeth have never traversed it. The knot in his chest tightens. He hadn’t considered how much he had missed this Amos. The one that bounced between him and Naomi like a kid with too many toys and no way to choose one. Being chosen, even for this, warms his chest. The knot stays.

 

The razor hums to life in Amos’ other hand. At the first touch of the blades to his skin, Holden’s eyelids flutter. He fights the urge to close them. He won’t give up this chance to be present with Amos. Not after all this time and his near death between them. So he watches Amos. Gazes up at his barely-furrowed brow. Takes in his focused eyes and set mouth. Amos doesn’t look at him. Just works, shifting Holden’s head this way and that to get every angle.

 

Holden shivers as Amos tips his head back, exposes his throat and drags the razor up to his chin. Amos pauses. Their eyes finally meet. The razor buzzes along between them, white noise for the moment. Holden wonders what Amos sees in his eyes. Holden can only see some brand of thoughtfulness. Maybe. But then Amos looks away and the moment is gone. He switches hands and gets back to work.

 

It doesn’t take long for Amos to finish. He tilts Holden’s face this way and that, looking for any missed spots. They wouldn’t be hard to find on Holden’s sickly-white skin. He nods to himself, and the razor clicks off. The silence between them weighs on his chest more than Amos’ absence had. He’s here. He’s right in front of Holden. Yet he still feels a hundred klicks away. There has to be something he can do to close the distance. To bring Amos back to him. To try and fix what he’d broken. With a quick hum, Amos turns away, drops the towel into a bin.

 

And Holden takes a leap.

 

“I missed you.”

 

Amos pauses. He doesn’t freeze, or whirl around. None of the usual—likely considered _dramatic_ —reactions Holden might have, in the same position. But he knew that already. Amos isn’t like most men. He sighs, scratches his jaw. When he turns to face Holden again he looks thoughtful.

 

“Since Eros,” he starts, face still a blank slate. “Or since the Mickeys almost boarded us?”

 

Holden takes a breath. “The Martians.”

 

Amos doesn’t show any sign of shock. He nods. Rubs his hands together. Holden clenches his jaw. What he wouldn’t give to know what thoughts are running through Amos’s mind. What he thinks of Holden’s confession. The radiation had failed to give him superpowers. Holden stands on shaking legs. He can’t do this sitting down.

 

Amos’s eyes follow his movement, trained on his face. “Really?”

 

Holden’s face heats up. He forces himself to keep eye contact with Amos. “Yeah. Since it all went to shit.”

 

“Hm. Interesting.”

 

Holden swallows. “What is?”

 

“Well,” Amos starts, stepping in close again and keeping his voice level. “Figured after that disagreement we had that you’d want to end it with us.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’ve got strong beliefs. Makes it feel like you’ll push away people who disagree.” Amos breathes another sigh. Holden isn’t sure what emotion is behind it. If there is emotion behind it. “We disagreed. You had a gun to my head. Fun’s over.”

 

Holden blinks, thinks over Amos’ words. What he’s saying. What he’s implying. Holden always thought it was more of a… mutual decision. That Amos would have easily backed away from him after… Holden shudders. _“Naomi was right to be afraid of you.”_ It hits him like a sucker punch. Amos is right. It was all him.

 

“Anyway,” Amos continues, either ignoring or not noticing Holden’s epiphany. “You still had Naomi. You two got along better than we did. Thought you’d be good without me.”

 

Holden clears his throat. His chest is too tight. “I wasn’t.”

 

“What?” Finally, Amos shows something. His brows draw together and his head tilts to the side.

 

“Naomi and I.” Holden bites the inside of his cheek. “She ended things with me. On Tycho.”

 

A fresh wave of pain tightens the knot in his chest. He blinks and looks away. He’s tried to forget that night. His confession to her and her breaking things off with him. Leaving him alone at the table. Because she’d lied for him and she couldn’t choose between him and Amos. She couldn't choose him. It had all been his fault.

 

Holden looks up again to find Amos watching him. Some version of confused and surprised plays out on his face. “She didn’t say anything. I thought you two were good.”

 

“No.” Holden shakes his head. “It’s all a big mess.”

 

Amos nods, the emotions fading from his face once again. “So… when you say you missed me. You mean me and Naomi, then?”

 

“Yes. I mean, no. I just—” Holden sighs, rubs his eyes. What is the easiest way to say this? Holden’s never been in a situation like this. Even having polyamorous parents doesn’t prepare a man for communication with one of two partners. When all he’s known is how much he’s missed Naomi, and he knows he can _talk_ to Naomi. He’s always had to show Amos how he—

 

He sucks in a breath. Inspiration. Don’t tell. _Show_. Before Holden can talk himself out of it, he grabs Amos by the jumpsuit and pulls him close. He can feel his strength wavering, but he manages to hold onto him as he kisses him hard enough to feel their teeth hit. Amos makes some sound in the back of his throat—Holden can’t decipher it—and after a few beats grips at Holden’s towel. He deepens the kiss, heart rate jumping at the idea of Amos just pulling the towel loose. A tiny part of him yearns to be reacquainted with Amos right here.

 

And then Amos pulls out of the kiss, uses his hands on Holden’s hips to push him away. It’s not a forceful push—no, almost _gentle_ —but Holden feels it as if he’d been shoved in the chest. Heat rises in his cheeks again. He isn’t sure if it’s more from lust or embarrassment. He takes a shuddering breath.

 

“I missed _you_.”

 

He opens his eyes, hoping to see something, _anything_ in Amos’ face that shows that he wants this as badly as Holden does.

 

Only to find the man giving him a tight grin. “Jesus, Cap. Save it for when you’re back to a hundred. Shouldn’t start something you can’t finish.” Amos taps the palm of his hand to Holden’s cheek twice.

 

Holden sputters. “But… that’s not what I—”

 

“I have to get back to work. Alex is probably looking for me.” With one last slap to the shoulder, Amos pivots and strides out of the head, leaving Holden cold and alone.

 

Holden stares at the door long after Amos leaves. He stays in the same spot, shivering, until his legs can’t hold him any longer. He sits back on the bench with a groan, letting his head hit the bulkhead with a little more force than before. “Stupid.”

 

He closes his eyes. Breathes slow to calm his mind—and body. His eyes itch and he clenches them tighter. It’s all a mess. And it’s all _his_ mess. He goes over the past months, every choice and every word, looking for where he could have stopped himself. Kept his mouth shut or said something different or _did_ something different. But he couldn’t have. He can’t be anyone different. He shudders.

 

The door slides open again, boots scuffing against the decking as someone else enters the head. Holden sighs. “Amos isn’t here, Alex.” His voice comes out rougher and more exhausted than he thought it might. Can he hide behind his injuries or is it obvious it’s something else?

 

“It’s me, Ji—... Holden.”

 

Holden’s eyes open and his tilts his head up to see not his pilot, but the other lover that had been on his mind. Former lover. Naomi. She looks as beautiful as the day he first noticed how beautiful she was. There’s a gnawing in his gut. She grins at him, a small, tight grin like Amos’. She wrings her hands together, shifts her gaze to look at anything but him. The knot in his chest stays firmly in place. He tries not to show it and gives her a tiny grin of his own.

 

“Hey.”

 

Naomi takes a deep breath. Like she’s preparing to say something. She shakes her head instead. “Amos said you needed some help.”

 

Holden blinks, his eyebrows drawing together. He’s not sure if he can take this emotional whiplash from the both of them. He feels vulnerable. Exposed. Not just because he’s naked save for his towel. But he doesn’t have the energy to do anything about it. He hums.

 

“Did he?”

 

Naomi hesitates again. “Yeah. Just… thought you weren’t… doing as well as you said.”

 

“That’s…” Holden finds himself at a loss. Amos grabbed Naomi? For what? If Holden needed help getting dressed, he’d have called for someone himself. It’s not like he has anything to hide from Naomi anymore. And his dignity has never meant much to him. Naomi had spent so much time avoiding alone time with him before Eros. Avoiding any opportunity for him to try and talk to her about more _personal_ matters.

 

So… why now?

 

“That’s very... thoughtful of him,” Holden concludes lamely. There had been a time he could just talk to Naomi, about anything and everything. Curled up in his cabin or hers, wrapped up in a tiny world that only reached as far as the door. Now he dances around the conversation, trying not to say anything that could make her uncomfortable. Worlds apart. He sighs. “I’ll be fine. Just need my legs to stop shaking.”

 

Naomi takes a breath. “I don’t think he meant your… _physical_ recovery. Jim.”

 

Holden’s gaze snaps back to her face. Her lip is caught between her teeth. She hasn’t called him by his name since… before Opal. Before she’d ended things with him. Before he fucked it all up. He swallows. “Then what?” He’s almost afraid of her answer. He doesn’t know why. If it’s because it’s her, or if it’s the topic. “What _did_ he mean?”

 

“Us, Jim,” she says, finally stepping towards him. “The three of us. The… break up.”

 

“Ah.” His heart hammers all over again as Naomi approaches. Slow, cautious. Why must they put him through this? Get his hopes up, only to dash them? Again. Will she run away like Amos, when she comes back to her senses? Will this tightness in his chest or gnawing in his stomach ever fade? He so loses himself in doubt and questions that he doesn’t realize how close Naomi is until her long, cool fingers slide under his jaw and tilt his head up. It takes more effort than he’d like to meet her brown eyes with his. They look almost pained.

 

“Naomi, what are you—”

 

“I’m sorry.” Her thumbs stroke over his cheekbones. Her eyes lock on his. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do it.”

 

Holden blinks up at her, brows drawing together. “ _You’re_ sorry? For what?” Naomi’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Holden makes a sound in the back of his throat that even he can’t quite interpret. Something in her small gesture makes him feel bold. And small. “Naomi… _I_ did this. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

 

It’s Naomi’s turn to look confused. She purses her lips. “What are you talking about, Jim?”

 

Holden almost tells her. The words that explain him and Amos and their fallout nearly spill from his lips like a holy confession just to seek his penance. Her forgiveness. The shame of his works creep up the back of his neck and sends a another shiver through him. Something clicks, for Naomi's gaze softens further.

 

“Is this about you and Amos? Whatever happened when that patrol found us?”

 

Holden swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He nods. “I… said something I shouldn't have.”

 

He nearly starts when Naomi snorts. “Why does that not surprise me?” Her tone is gentle, her expression… _affectionate._

 

“Naomi…” He pushes down the rising joy, the hope that unfurls in his chest. This is how she looked at him before. The way he’s wanted her to look at him since she stormed out of the bar with his heart in her hands. But as much as he wants to let himself just revel in it, she deserves to know. She needs to know. “When… the Martians… I told Amos you were _right_ to be afraid of him.”

 

Naomi blinks. Holden’s heart stops. He wants to look away, dreading the disgust he’ll be sure to see when she processes what he’d said. That he’d said something so purely meant to hurt someone she cared about. Used _her_ to hurt someone she cared about. He knows deep down it was to lash out over his own pain. And it makes it feel worse. Cruel. He deserves any judgement she may pass on him. So he can’t look away. He has to take it. He has to crush the hope he so badly wants to feel to keep himself from hurting more.

 

Naomi takes a breath. Nods. “You’re… blaming yourself? For everything?”

 

“Well…” Holden pauses. “Yeah?”

 

The disgust never comes. The corner of Naomi’s mouth twitches. Her thumb strokes over his cheek again. “Have you ever considered that I am partially to blame? It _did_ start when Amos found out I was lying for you.”

 

“I—” No. He hadn’t. In all honesty—further proof of his asshole status—he’d forgotten how Naomi and Amos had fallen out in the first place. Naomi had _protected_ him from Amos, at the expense of their relationship. Still a notch on his belt of fault, but… not by his own doing. She’d chosen to keep his secret, knowing what might happen. He sighs, looks away from her warm brown eyes by closing his own. “I’m sorry _._ I hadn’t.”

 

“I don’t know what I expected. But we _do_ share the blame, Jim.” Her voice is soft, fingers still petting his skin. It’s so soothing. Holden hadn’t realized just how badly he’d missed her touch until her hands were on him again. “You regret what you said, right?”

 

“To Amos? Absolutely. I don’t… relish being cruel, in retrospect.”

 

Naomi laughs. “I’m certain you don’t. I’m certain you’ve had yourself in a personal hell since you said it.” She taps his jawline, and Holden opens his eyes to look at her again, Her gentle smile has returned. “You’re not the type to be cruel.”

 

“And neither are you,” Holden whispers. Naomi’s eyes widen. He moves his hands to rest on her hips, giving her a comforting touch of his own. She tenses. But only for a second. “You aren’t, Naomi. You don’t have to apologize to me. I understand why you did what you did. I get it now.”

 

And he does. It was unfair of him to ever think she should bounce between the two of them, or keep things up with him while she hurt over Amos. Unfair and cruel. And he’d almost _died_ with those rifts between them. That thought hurts him most. Leaving all of this unsaid. Leaving them with all this pain.

 

Before Naomi can answer him, he pulls her close, presses his forehead to her stomach. She makes a sort of choked sound above him, an emotion he’s not sure he can place. She smells like sweat and grease. It’s not entirely unpleasant, not from her. It makes him think of home. His new home. Fingers thread through his hair, trail down the back of his neck. A soft groan escapes him, and he further melts into her.

 

_God_ … he’s missed this. _How could I be so stupid?_ He doesn’t realize he’d said it out loud until Naomi laughs above him. It’s a bitter bark of a sound.

 

“Not just you, Jim. I—I walked out on you at the bar.” Her voice wavers, her grip on his hair and shoulder tightening. “You could have died and the last _real_ conversation we had was weeks ago. I’d ended things and just _left you there_.”

 

“But you waited for me on Eros,” he whispers, still loud enough for her to hear. “You waited. I didn’t die. You didn’t leave me and I’m here.”

 

The ease with which the words fall from his lips surprises him. The certainty. It surprises Naomi too, for she stutters— _Naomi, stuttering!_ —before taking a breath.

 

“It’s that easy for you?”

 

“Yes,” he assures her, certain as anything. “That’s it.”

 

And it is. Of course, he may have blamed her for his pain once. As he sat alone at the table back at Opal, waving a waitress down to close their tab to distract himself from the deep ache in his chest. But he quickly turned it into anger at himself. She doesn’t need his forgiveness because there’s nothing to forgive. She’d done nothing wrong in choosing Amos. In choosing herself.

 

Naomi gently pulls him away from her stomach, tilting his head up to meet his eyes. Holden gazes back up at her. He’s unafraid now. Her long fingers tease through his hair again. The question lingers in her eyes. _Should we try again?_ Holden wants nothing more. He nods, hoping the rest of his expression answers for him as she studies his face in silence.

 

Naomi relaxes, a small grin replacing the concern that colored her features. She leans down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Holden lets his eyes close.

 

“Let’s try _not_ do that again, yeah?”

 

Holden hums, squeezing her waist. “Agreed.”

 

She kisses his forehead once more, nuzzling the same spot before finally pulling away from him. “I may have found something in the medbay that will help you long term. Think you can get dressed on your own?”

 

Holden hadn’t noticed when the shaking had stopped. He shoots her a grin. “I think I can manage.”

 

She returns his smile. “I’ll get Miller. Meet you there in fifteen?” It’s far more than enough time, even with weak muscles and shaky legs. His chest warms.

 

“Sounds good.” And it does. For the first time since Holden walked into the bar on Tycho to meet Naomi for a drink, something finally feels _good_. _He_ finally feels good. “Thank you, Naomi.”

 

Naomi brushes her knuckles against his cheek, smile widening. Part of Holden wishes she’ll lean down and kiss him. The deeply-romantic, misses-his-maybe-girlfriend-more-than-coffee part. But if she had been ready for that, she would have done so. It’s not the right moment. They’ll find it. He’s certain of it now.

 

She leaves him with the clothes Amos had lain out for him. Not before shooting him one last smile over her shoulder as she ducks out the door. Holden’s heart is racing. For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t worry about it. He’s not scared. It’s not an emergency. He’s practically _soaring_. Wings of eagles and all that shit.

 

He eases himself back to his feet and dresses with care. Much of his body still aches and he still bruises too easy. However, there’s an eagerness he can’t keep from his movements. Naomi wants him again. _Amos_ might want him again. He may be at half-strength or less, but he feels _whole_. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been missing parts of himself until he knew what it was like to have them back. He has to do better. Has to _be_ better. Has to be worthy of the care and forgiveness they’ve bestowed upon him. Or… acceptance, in Amos’ case.

 

And later, after he and Naomi put the “protomolecule” sample in the missile, after she asked if he was okay, and after they had gotten… _reaquainted_ with each other in the airlock, Amos finds him in the corridor on his way back up to Ops.

 

The mechanic gives him a once over, and Holden is pretty certain that Amos knows exactly what had happened before Alex’s surprise dinner. That he knows exactly what had taken Holden and Naomi so long in the airlock. He so wishes the radiation had given him superpowers. To know what Amos might think of it.

 

But Amos _seems_ to answer that question for him by slamming him back into the bulkhead and kissing him hard enough to similarly slam his _head_ back into the bulkhead. He doesn’t know what it is about his partners and pushing him into a wall, but if he’s going to get a concussion, ground rules might be important. Not that he’s thinking about ground rules when Amos is _finally_ kissing him again. He grips at Amos’ jumpsuit, just like in the head hours before. This time, he doesn’t shake. He may be held upright between the wall and the hard plane of Amos’ chest, but Holden knows he can stand tall on his own now.

 

They kiss until they’re both breathless, Amos pulling away but staying close enough to breathe the same air. Holden gazes at him, not bothering to fight through the post-kiss dreamy haze these two often leave him in. Amos holds him by the jaw, studying his face. Holden wants to tip his chin up, kiss him again. But something like _mischief_ flashes in Amos’ eyes. Holden’s brows draw together.

 

Amos stops his question with one of his own. “You and Naomi good then?”

 

Holden gapes at him. “What?”

 

“C’mon, Cap,” Amos scoffs. Holden files all thoughts of the title away for when he’s _not_ pinned to a bulkhead. “It’s written all over your face. Hers too. Just a damn shame I wasn’t there.”

 

“Well,” Holden starts, clearing his throat when it comes out like a croak. “Well… it happened so fast, we just—”

 

Amos pats his cheek and pulls away, taking his warmth with him. “Nah, it’s fine. All good. Besides—” He leans in once more, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “You can always make it up to me by reenacting it when we hit Tycho. I’m sure Naomi won’t mind.”

 

He gives Holden one last hard slap on the arm for good measure before sauntering away, whistling some tune or another. Holden leans against the bulkhead for a while after that, head flooded with images of the three of them holed up in some fancy Tycho apartment for hours. When he finally pushes away, the fresh bruises from dual wall-shovings across his back and arms protest.

 

He can’t say it isn’t worth it.


End file.
